


On the 11th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Half Past Eleven

by Mangokiwitropicalswirl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:36:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9274409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangokiwitropicalswirl/pseuds/Mangokiwitropicalswirl





	

After an embarrassed Scully nearly falls out of the bed and introduces herself to Dr. Zimmerman, the two of them confer on Mulder’s condition. Dr. Zimmerman is equally surprised by Mulder’s amnesia, but not concerned enough to run more tests.

“As far as I can tell, Agent Mulder,” he explains, “there’s no reason to keep you overnight. We’ll simply need to wait to see if these localized memories return. If things still aren’t normal in a number of days, we’ll refer you on to a neurologist for a full workup.”

“So he can go?” Scully sounds incredulous, not used to hospital stays of less than a day at least.

“I’ll get started on the discharge right now,” the doctor nods before turning toward Mulder. “I’ll write you a prescription for some painkillers, but other than that, I feel comfortable handing you off into Dr. Scully’s care.”

“Dr. Scully’s care?” Mulder raises an eyebrow.

“Well, yes,” Dr. Zimmerman answers, looking back and forth between the two of them. “I assume she’ll be monitoring you for the next 24 to 48 hours?”

“But we --” Mulder starts before Scully immediately interrupts him.

“Of course,” she nods. “I’ll keep an eye out for advanced concussion symptoms.”

As the doctor scribbles out a prescription, the shrill chirp of Scully’s cell phone startles them both. She retrieves it from her clutch and flips it open with a confused wrinkle of her forehead, unsure of who could possibly be calling at nearly 11 p.m., present company excluded.

“Dana?” Her mom’s voice is audible to Mulder through the headset, so he nods as Scully mouths ‘my mom’. “Did I wake you?”

“No mom, tonight was the holiday social, remember?” Scully explains.

“Oh Dana, dear, I’m so sorry. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Mulder swears he hears a hopeful tone in Maggie’s voice.

“No, it’s fine,” says Scully. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I feel so stupid asking, but I didn’t know who else to call,” Maggie sighs. “My book club Christmas party was tonight, but when I came out, the car wouldn’t start. The other ladies have already left and neither Judy or I feel comfortable doing a jump-start in this cold. Can you swing over and pick me up?”

“Of course.” Scully assures her. “It may be a little while, though, can you wait inside at Judy’s? I need to go get my car first.”

“Oh Dana, I’m so sorry, of course you don’t have your car. Forget about it, I’ll just get a taxi and come back for the car in the morning,” Maggie protests.

“Honestly mom, it’s okay,” says Scully. “I just need to wait until Mulder’s discharged and then we’ll head over.”

“Discharged?”

“I’ll explain when I get there,” Scully almost laughs. “It’s nothing to worry about, but Mulder took a little spill on some steps so we had him checked out at the hospital.”

“I swear Dana,” Maggie chuckles. “The two of you must have the worst luck.”

“You have no idea,” Scully sighs. “See you soon.”

Turning to Mulder, Scully looks apologetic. Before she can even begin to explain, though, he holds up a hand and waves it off. “I heard,” he says, “It’s no problem. Why don’t you just leave me here and go get her. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mulder, you heard the doctor,” Scully shakes her head. “You need to be kept under observation for the next day or two. They aren’t going to just let you leave on your own. You’ll have to come with me. I’ll drop off my mom and then take you to your apartment.”

Mulder doesn’t know why he feels so disappointed by that plan.  
____________

In the back of the taxi on their way to Scully’s, Mulder considers trying to pick up where they’d left off before Dr. Zimmerman had made his untimely entrance, but as he turns toward her, he sees her eyelids drooping and her head nodding to one side.

It has been a long evening -- apparently an evening full of physical exertion that he sadly cannot remember. With a deep sigh, he slides an arm behind her waist and pulls her alongside him in the backseat. Scully’s head droops onto his shoulder and he reaches up with his other hand to smooth over her hair, tucking a few errant strands behind her ear. Scully lets out a contented mumble and curls her feet up onto the seat, toeing her shoes off onto the floor with a soft thud.

 

She’s so much softer, pliable and easy with him than he can ever remember her being. He can only imagine what must have gone on between them tonight because he knows what he wants to do with her now. Her long neck is tilted back as she dozes, and he gets a flash of memory of his lips against that same pale skin, the scent of her hair in his nostrils. Just as quickly it passes, but not without leaving him freshly aroused and sorry she’s fallen asleep.

Instead all he can do is press a few kisses onto the crown of her head. His own eyes begin to slide shut and pretty soon they’re both dozing. Upon arriving at Scully’s, Mulder gently shakes her awake and they make their way to her car, not even bothering to stop off inside. Mulder feels badly that she has to drive at this late hour, but given his head injury, him driving is definitely out of the question. Fortunately, Maggie’s party isn’t far away and even though she’s tired, Scully is in good spirits. 

“You’ll have to remind me tomorrow to tell you about what you said to Agent Doyle tonight,” she laughs.

“Oh really?” He chuckles. “Did I finally give him the smack across the face he’s been asking for?”

“You’ll have to wait for that story,” Scully smiles. “You may be in trouble with Diana too, though I didn’t hear that full conversation.”

A look of dread crosses his face and Scully can’t help but look at him sideways and laugh.

________________________

Maggie is surprised by how quickly they arrive, but the three of them have no luck jump-starting her car in the frigid cold. They tumble back in and head toward Maggie's, the clock now inching its way far past midnight. When they finally turn the corner onto her street, all of them are silent and barely keeping their eyes open.

“Dana,” Maggie says as they pull into the driveway, “you obviously are much too tired to drive back into the city tonight. Why don’t you two just stay and head back in the morning?”

“Mom, I would hate for Mulder to have to stay in his condition. I promised to take him to his apartment on my way back.”

“It’s no bother for me, Scully,” says Mulder, “as long as it’s no problem for you Mrs. Scully. Thank you.”

Maggie is quick to pull out clean bedding for the downstairs couch, but apologizes that she doesn’t have anything for Mulder to change into. 

“It’s okay, Mrs. Scully,” Mulder yawns as he toes off his shoes, “It won’t be the first time I’ve slept in my clothes.”

Mulder pads down the hall toward the bathroom in his socks and Maggie gives a motherly appraisal of Scully’s revealing dress before bringing her a set of oversized flannel pants and a long-sleeved shirt. 

“Dana, I’m so sorry,” she sighs heavily, “I just remembered.”

“What is it, mom?”

“I was having your old room repainted. Everything’s a mess in there, covered in tarps. I haven’t had time to put the bed back together.”

Now Scully sighs heavily, the distance between the present moment and the delicious collapse onto a horizontal surface seeming to recede further and further into the future. “We can make up a bed on the floor in there,” she suggests. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well,” Maggie says, “unless you want me to pull out the hide-a-bed. You and Mulder could share that.”

“Mom, Mulder’s hurt,” Scully’s eyes widen, glad Mulder is off changing in the guest bath and not around to hear her mother basically offer to let them shack up in her living room.

“Don’t tell me you two have never had to share a bed before?” says Maggie. “I’d assume you’ve had cases where that’s happened?”

“Cases, yes,” Scully protests. “A couple times in small towns when motels have been full. This just doesn’t seem….”. She trails off, unable to think of a way to talk her mother out of her offer.

“Don’t worry,” Maggie winks, as if Scully’s a teenager asking for curfew extension. “I won’t tell your father.”

 

Scully passes a blinking, shirtless Mulder, on her way to change into the flannels. With his hair spiking out where he’s run his wet hands through it before bed, he reminds her of a sleepy hedgehog. She wants to run her hands through his hair like she had been just hours before, she wants to thread her fingers through it and pull his hot mouth back down onto hers. 

“Mom needs your help pulling out the hide-a-bed,” she mumbles. “My room, um, my room’s not available.” 

Mulder smiles at her through a haze of exhaustion and painkillers. “So we’re shackin’ up at Maggie's, huh?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Scully yawns in reply as she shuts the bathroom door between them.

When she makes her way back to the living room, the oversized flannels drag at her heels and the top button is fastened just barely above the flat of her sternum. She figures they must have been Bill’s or Charlie’s. Cinching the waist band as tight as she can, she shuffles over to where Mulder is sprawled out on the hastily thrown-down sheets. She notices he’s put his undershirt back on, but beneath the covers, he’s stripped down to his boxers. One arm is thrown over his face, and he peeks out from under his elbow at her as she carefully slides in next to him.

“These painkillers are the good stuff,” Mulder mumbles, his eyes at half-mast. Scully reaches over to rest a hand on his forehead, feeling for fever.

“Do you feel feverish? Clammy?” she asks. “Dizzy?”

“No.” He rolls his head from side to side, his eyes drooping further. “Just sleepy.”

“You tell me if you feel dizzy or if you need to vomit,” Scully orders him seriously.

“Scully, I am not going to tell you if I need to vomit. I’m just going to go vomit, got that?”

“I’m not kidding,” she scolds, “concussions can be serious business.”

“I’m fine, Scully,” he pushes her hand away from his forehead, his hand lingering on hers for a moment. Scully lays back on her pillow and tries to decide if she should turn on her side away from him, toward him, or figure out some way to do neither.

He doesn’t remember, she reminds herself as the phantom sensation of his wide hands making their way up her thighs under her dress causes her to flush. She decides to lay flat on her back, her knees angled toward him. She stares at the ceiling, at a few feathery shadows thrown by the low light of the side lamp.

“I’m sorry Scully,” Mulder says in a low whisper as she reaches to turn off the lamp.

“Sorry for what?” She whispers back.

“I'm sorry I don’t remember kissing you.”

Scully pauses, debating exactly how much to tell him he’s missed, or whether it’d be better to just start everything over, keeping the memories all to herself. She knows he might feel worse when he hears they’ve surpassed second base and were heading swiftly around to third when the accident happened. 

But she’s sorry too, that he doesn’t remember his breath on neck as they’d danced, or the way his mouth hovered over her skin as he told her the story of the lovers cast in stone, waiting forever for the moment their lips might touch. Sorry he’s forgotten his hand up her skirt and her hands down his back and the furious kisses in the dark corner of the museum. She has to tell him.

“It’s okay Mulder,” she breathes lowly, turning her body all the way towards him, her hands coming to rest on his chest. “I’ll tell you in the morning, alright?

“K.” He manages one labored syllable before the pain meds take hold and his eyes shut for good. As he drifts off, he covers her hand with his and runs his thumb along hers like an echo of a kiss. “‘Night Scully.”

“‘Night Mulder,” she whispers. Minutes pass before the thrumming in Scully’s body subsides to a point she can think about sleep. She’s still vibrating with the sense of his hands running along her ribcage, rolling up to cup her breasts -- wait, did that happen? In the half-sleep before sleep, she gets lost in between memory and fantasy. When her eyes finally close, all that remains is the scent of his aftershave and a dull, throbbing ache between her legs.  
__________________________

The early sun through the window sheers slants across the bed, waking Scully from a solid, dreamless sleep. The first thing that she registers is a warmth pressed along her back. She has turned in the night and is now spooned against Mulder’s warm chest, her head tucked under his chin. As her eyes drift open, she sees the expanse of his hand curving over her upper thigh, his fingers nudged deeply into the flannel crevice between her knees. She feels caught, possessed, captive.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Scully?” Mulder’s voice purrs low in her ear when he realizes she's awake.

“Tell you what?” Scully yawns, tipping her nose up towards his.

“Why didn’t you tell me that I told you ‘I love you.’”

Scully freezes a moment and then raises up to look him straight in the eye. He is beaming and scruffy-faced in the glow of the morning. Scully smiles and smoothes a hand over his forehead.

“You remember?” Her eyes widen in hope.

He nods, stroking his hand slowly along her leg. “I remember.”


End file.
